Selected quad for the lemma: death_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
death_n	let_v	life_n	lord_n	9,881	5	3.8577	3	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A14129	The Penitent sonnes teares for his murdered mother / by Nathaniel Tyndale, sicke both in soule and body, a prisoner now in Newgate. The much-afflicted mothers teares for her drowned daughter / [by?] Anne Musket, the wofull mother for her lost daughter	Tyndale, Nathaniel.; Musket, Anne.	1624 (1624)	STC 24435.5; ESTC S3851	1,950	1

Lord be mercifull O God forgiue him Forsak● mee not O Lord. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 O Lord 〈…〉 Lord be mercifull The penitent Sonnes Teares for his murdered Mother HE that has taught ten thousand tongues to speake That horrid sinne that his sad heart doth breake Now scarce can speake himselfe for Woe denyes A begging Voyce and giues me begging Eyes Me thinkes the Shaddow of this reall thing That wretched Mee into this World did bring Stands poynting now my guilty Soule to shake To th' bloudy wound this bloudy hand did make That wound 's a Mouth her dead dry bloud a Tongue That sayes ' mongst all the most-forsaken throng That haue their liues branded with bloud and shame J stand the formost haue the foulest name Mee thinkes I heare her tell mee those pale Hands Haue gently lapt mee in my swathing bands Haue dandled mee and when I learn'd to goe Haue propt mee weake till I too-strong did grow Me thinkes I see Her poynt vpon her brest And tell me there I haue bin vs'd to feast Thence oft haue fetcht my liuing from her bloud By Heau'n conuerted to my wholesome food And last me thinkes Shee poynts vpon that place Where all my parts had their due forme and grace With these sad words Behold th' vnhappy wombe Which I could wish Heauen once had made thy Tombe A heauy wish yet such a wish indeed As I my selfe now with a Heart doth bleed Could sadly breathe ' cause that vntimely birth Brought not a Man but Monster to the Earth From that deepe Dungeon where in bands I lye And from a depth more deepe I call and cry The depth of anguish which thy sight most pure Can onely looke on and thy mercies cure O cure my soule 't is that great worke I know For which so High thou didst descend so low Then great Phisician Helpe mee Heale my wound Great Shepheard Seeke mee Let my Soule be found That heauenly inuitation made to those Whose many sinnes load them with many woes Is made to mee For onely sinne doth griue mee And not my death Then blessed Lord relieue mee Lord let my teares be to my leprous sinne As Iordan was to Naamans leprous skinne And wash it cleane But ô so great a good Ne'r came by Water 't is a worke of Bloud A worke of Bloud the bloud of that pure Lambe That to purge sinne and saue poore sinners came That precious Bloud O Lord that Bloud of thine Apply to mee to purge this bloud of mine So as of GOD I begge I begge of Men Their zealous prayers t' assist mee And agen To quit that Goodnesse this Reward I 'le giue I 'le pray my Death may teach all them to Liue. FINIS By Nathaniel Tyndale sicke both in soule and body a prisoner now in New-gate The much-afflicted Mothers Teares for her drowned Daughter COme tender Mothers see a Mothers feares Sinnes Palsie shake mee and my Floud of teares Come heare my sighs and penitentiall prayers Deaths shade's my Mansion my Companion Cares O! how much worse than any sauage Beare She-Wolfe or Tygresse must I now appeare Since they their young with such respect doe cherish And mine by Mee doth thus vntimely perish For wretched J when fruitlesse cares tooke place And cloudy passion hid the light of gr ce More fell than these are my poore Childe forgot And child-bed pangs the Mothers painefull lot Forgot thou wert my Flesh Forgot how oft I kist thee blest thee and to slumbers soft Within these armes haue lull'd thee And againe How oft my pitties haue bemon'd thy paine Forgot how oft vpon my tender brest Thou hast bin fed how often taine thy rest Forgot a Mothers nine yeeres cares and cost All which with thee are in thy murder lost All these forgot When wee our GOD forget Then Satan comes and in our Eye doth set His poysoned baites which ' cause I not withstood Mine Eye drops Water But my Heart drops Blood For Death alas I care not Could I summe As many liues as I haue houres to come I 'de spend them all And with a smiling Face Meet all those Deaths to giue thy sweet life place But wishes deare CLEMENTIA are but vaine I drown'd thee little Angell And againe Should drowne thy Body wer 't before my feares In this New Riuer of mine owne warme Teares These Teares that euer from mine Eyes shall flow This lauish Floud of penitentiall woe This Wine of Angels so the Fathers call Those drops Repentance lets so freely fall With Paul with Peter Dauid and that sonne The maze of Ryot and hot lust did runne And with the Woman washt her Sauiours feet Let my poore Soule that balme of mercy meet Thou ' cam'st not Lord the iust and pure to call But impure sinners Nor do'st ioy their fall But their conuersion And when Grace doth bring One soule to thee all the blest Angels sing I know 't is late O Lord yet know thy power Know that's as much in mans departing houre As in a rathe beginning for my griefe Has learnt the Lesson of that penitent Thiefe Like his let mine thy Mercies-Seat ascend And purchase there ' gainst this sad life shall end That life to death shall neuer more giue way So while I weepe helpe my poore Soule to pray FINIS Anne Musket the wofull MOTHER for her lost Daughter Printed at London for Iohn Trundle